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Dunkelnacht
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Where Livid Lights Emblaze
When the blindfold falls, the curtain parts, my eyes, as an automatic reflex, twist and bend.
I guess then I see their faces made of shadows, their traumas, their souls and their cries.
From ear to hearing, this is the clock of the world coming to destroy my dreams too often extensive.
It sounds and chimes, celebrating my fall, shouting the realism of my dark unknown.
A gag, racked with pain, flying to dust, and their words, now released, have the taste of acid.
Distinctive bellowing and ancestral repressions in their throats that twist, crack and then empty.
Where living lights emblaze, I am just a still-born king.
When the lights explode, the clock screams to bleeding, the crowd, epileptic, curves in pressure.
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I then mocked and spit on their natural rights, their instincts of justice and anti-alienation.
From thrill to orgasm, all of my senses are excited in contact with those hot bodies.
As a last meal, I test the people, savor its delights and its stimulant clashes.
An ultimate mass fire in crisis, I wouldn't distinguish anymore the last gasps from my own agony.
So here we are, gloomy tyrants or potential victims, witnessing and dying to the decline of our hypocrisies.
Where livid lights emblaze, I am just a still-born God.
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